


Fuckup Trucker

by Eonnie



Series: BTS | Nature Setting AUs [4]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: ASMR, Angst and Smut, Angst for Accidents and Natural Disasters, Cunnilingus, D/s, F/M, Femdom, Fingering, Fluff and Romance bits, From macho to sub, Happy Ending, Humiliation kink, Kim Namjoon is The Fuckup™, Klutz!Joon, Mentioned Kim Seokjin | Jin, Mostly Reader POV, Multiple Orgasms, Namjoon being cute with his dimples, Namjoon getting called baby a lot, Namjoon whispering and being wholesome, Namjoon x You, Reader owning Namjoon's ass cause she can, Reward/punishment, Swearing, Trucker!Namjoon, Vacation AU, Vaginal Sex, dom!reader, reader to the rescue, sub!Namjoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-10 19:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15298182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eonnie/pseuds/Eonnie
Summary: You count to hundred. He has to make you cum twice.





	Fuckup Trucker

**Author's Note:**

> I always fantasize about hot stories in the winter snow. This is one of them and I want to share it with you lovelies. Many thanks for reading, sub!Joon is life ♡

 

The icy road won’t let your shoes find any grip. One step, two steps, three grueling steps. It feels like moving backward. Each movement is ungrateful, much like the temperature at dusk that creeps into your limbs, further slowing down the walk. You remember Jin’s words at the gas station: Walk like a penguin and you won’t slip. It seems like the most ridiculous thing to do, but it works. There’s nobody else here to laugh at it anyway. 

The subtle cracking under your boots becomes the only sound in the valley after the clattering noise from the last train to Juneau fades. The echo in these valleys can become rather strong if only one is just loud enough. But the silence is even louder, making every step eerier than ever. A brown dot in the distance comes into sight when the wind carries away some snow.

 

After the penguin waddles got you closer to the spot, a snowy roof appears from the blur of white.

You pat the small chest pocket of your coat twice. Yes, the key is still there. It takes some time until your efforts to free the lock from snow come to fruition. Then, you fumble at the chest pocket for what feels like two minutes because your gloves are too chunky to grab the key. It drops from your grasp right away.

You have to collect it from a heap of virgin snow that keeps moving under the heavy wind. It’s too much for the gloves to handle. Eventually, they become wet at the fingertips. 

You should have listened to wise Jin. He said that lamb fur was not 'the most persistent material in these conditions'. Nevertheless, you pick up the key with confidence. You can't change the fact that you're wearing them right now. And the gloves don’t really matter when you’ll be warm in a minute.

 

The lodge is supposed to have a nice fireplace, a humongous oven, even a sofa. The prospect makes you feel cozy already, placing the key at the lock to push in with a hopeful mind. Once, twice. It doesn’t work. You flip the key by 180 degrees and try again. Thrice this time. It doesn’t even go half in, nor does it turn one bit. Banging at the won’t help to free the lock. It’s iced up from the inside out.

Fuck. 

Instead of encountering a rear entrance around the corner, you only find a large stack of chopped wood. Jin likely prepared it two weeks ago, knowing you would stay here for two days before continuing your trip to Alaska. It’s an orderly stack, no wood out of place. It’s almost like... stairs. Stairs! It might have been unintentional, but the window right above the stack appears to be slightly tilted. Jin, you genius. 

You climb up fast to reach the spot, some pieces of wood tumbling aside. The tilt of the window allows you to reach inside with one glove off, turning the handle. Click. The window opens with a creak while more wood falls down underneath you, so you are forced to slip in as quickly as possible. The landing is soft: Carpet.

You close the window with the help of a nearby broomstick and hurry to get the fireplace and oven going. It’s tedious work, but some pieces of wood are already in there — again, freshly chopped. 

 

The tilted window left the lodge freezing cold even with a bit of snow inside. At least, the sofa is as comfortable as Jin had promised, inviting you with quite a couple of pillows and blankets. The heat distributes from the floor upwards while the sun sets. Your hands feel much better now that the damned wet gloves are off, dangling near the fireplace to dry.

There are some candles to light up at what is supposed to be the dinner table, a large oak trunk sliced in half and led out horizontally around four smaller trunks that serve as seats. The lighting is decent, but not sufficient given how late it is. You leave your coat and heavy shoes on while sitting on the sofa, watching flames tongue at the wood blocks.

Maybe the fire will get a little brighter when you wait. You didn't travel all the way from Juneau not to have a luminous evening now. Your relatives have made fun of you doing such a trip already, you'll prove them wrong and say when you arrive: Canada's great, no matter how icy it is.

It's not a good idea to doze off like that but you need rest, but also warmth. So you make sure to slightly tilt the window at the other side of the lodge to let in fresh air. If there's something you don't plan on doing during this vacation, it's dying because of carbon monoxide poisoning. You pass out fast between blankets and pillows, hoping that the lock would be easier to handle tomorrow. 

 

A large rumble interrupts your sleep just when the fire starts to diminish. The entire valley echoes a thunderous boom, akin to an earthquake. It's terrifying. The sound gets you up at the blink of an eye. 

_You need to get out of here. If the roof collapses, you don't stand a chance._

The lock defrosted, but the door is still hard to open because of the snow pile outside. You push until the slit is broad enough to exit, almost tripping since the snow has been getting firmer with the falling evening degrees. Now you see where the rumble was coming from.

 

A giant blue truck has stopped just a few feet away. 

 

There’s a cursing, lanky guy in a huge fur coat walking around it with a lantern. And in the distance, you see the respective truck trailer in the vicinity of the valley slope. But something's not right. In the scarce gleam of the lantern, you realize why.

It’s turned upside down.

 

The man adjusts his cap in surprise when you approach and yell through the wind. 

“You lost your trailer?!”

“Where the hell did you come from?”

He's got a deep voice that's almost too hard to hear. The lantern shifts to your direction completely now. You step closer.

 

“The lodge, shall I contact—”

 

You can see his face now. Stern eyes. Strong jaw and brows. Tan, with bits of dark hair sticky against his forehead.

 

It's a grimace of sheer fury.

 

“I have one less problem when you’re  _not_  here. Go, just go away!”

 

He gestures, pointing at you, then to the house. “I’ll do this myself. You’ve seen nothing here. Go!”

 

Now he spins around on his heel. You can't even reply, he's so fast. 

 

Back at the truck, he rummages in the driver’s cab, back turned to you. 

“Headquarters! Headquarters, where are you? 5-0-6, 5-0-6 calling!”

He keeps repeating it, but there’s nobody answering on the radio set. The guy seeks to go on walking around the scene inspecting the trailer, and more insults follow. Only a few sentences and you know practically everyone he ever hated.

Only a rumble from the mountains comes as a response.

 

Much more severe than what you heard earlier when the crash happened. Against the cutting wind, you scream that you don’t care about his company messing up the trailer safety check, or the headquarters, or that everyone in the world is an asshole, and that he should come in. But he keeps roaming about. You go after him, drag him by the arm. 

 

"Don't you understand? You shouldn't be here!"

He rips his arm away. His coat is hard to grasp. 

 

“Come on...!”

He’s heavy and churning. 

“Let me be, you can’t hel—”

He pushes you away. The rumble from the mountain turns louder, making him flinch and look upwards. You slap him across the face. Hard. It doesn't hurt, you can't feel your fingers in the cold anyway. But he can.

 

“Follow me fuckwit,  _now_!”

He stumbles, ends up covered in snow. You fail to drag him up again in a last effort. He's too tall and massive. 

 

 

 

The avalanche has almost reached the bottom of the valley when you shove, no, kick him past the doorstep and turn the key. Whatever caused him to get back up, it must have been a miracle. 

Minute after minute passes with him and you jammed together at the ground, enduring the shaking, the roar outside. The lodge is still for seconds, but when you get up, another quake brings you down. He’s wincing next to you, coiled up inside the coat. When the roar subsides, none of you dares to rise for minutes on end. Once you dare to, he still remains cowering.

“Come on up, that was that,” you point to the sofa for him to sit. He bucks on the ground, then heaves himself up with the help of both arms. When he sits down on the couch, it feels like he collapses under the seeming weight of a metric ton.

 

“You were right. I’m a dumbass.”

He shifts in the pillows, rubbing his temples. “That was the worst case scenario.”

“Twice for me,” you grumble, “It’s my second day in Canada and I have more common sense than a trucker? What’s your name, anyways?”

“Namjoon. I’m actually a rookie driver.”

 

“You meant accident driver! You almost got both of us dead and frozen! Aren’t you supposed to have enough training beforehand to do this?”

“The shock. I, I messed up everything. I’m sorry. My job is history.”

 

“That’s the only thing you’re worried about?”

“Yes, I mean, no! I’m glad you did that.”

“Won’t do it again. Now you stay here and don’t move an inch.”

“Listen, I’m really grateful, I—”

“Just wait here. You look like a fucking wax figure. Unlucky devil. I'm Y/N.”

 

He nods, tries to wipe his face more than once with the back of his hand. You browse the back of the room to search for what you wanted to look for earlier, but were too tired.

 

Well. Now you aren't anymore.

 

The kitchen has quite a few supplies, in fact. Pots, tinned food, even bread. Some pieces of pastry with either almonds or raisins. Bless Jin.

“We can’t do anything now,” you shrug, “might as well have a can of soup.”

Namjoon only mumbles. He doesn't look any less jazzed. If the lodge had a bathtub, you would have him submerged there with whiskey in the water to get some life into him. Who knows how he managed to make his trailer break loose like that. 

 

The pot heats quickly on the oven, it’s only a matter of two minutes. Soon, a scent of chicken, peas, and spicy pepper spreads in the room. After tossing two more blocks of wood into the fireplace, you find cutlery and crockery in a slightly lopsided cupboard and take two each. Once the two serves are ready, you pass him one, and he snaps out of his paralysis. Sort of. You feel a bit more lenient.

“Here. Sorry I blamed you. Neither was your fault.”

“It’s not that I didn’t provoke fate, don’t say that.”

He stirs the soup, hasty, then begins to spoon it. 

“Don’t burn yourself just now.”

“I’ll be careful,” Namjoon slurps, “just feeling very done for, don’t really care.”

 

Once he’s finished, he waits for your last sip shifting around more, then rushes to clean up the kitchen. He persists putting everything back to its original place and make up for your efforts. You can't stop him. Needing to keep himself occupied, it seems to you. He returns to the couch even more exhausted, not knowing how to compose himself. No eye contact. 

“Your clothes,” you seize him up a second time, “get these off, you’re soaked from head to toe. I’ll get you bundled up. The fire’s warm enough now.”

“Right. Right. Good idea, actually.” 

 

His nose and cheeks are twice as rosy than before now, but drenched in cold sweat. The cap comes off, so does the coat. The heavy boots — unlaced.

He’s wearing one thick knit of a sweater and bulky jeans with pockets all over. All wetted by snow, too. You turn away to get a blanket while he strips down to his boxers entirely. Before he’s wrapped up, you find yourself gazing at his body more than once. You won't say anything but he caught the glance.

"What?"

"Do you really wanna know?"

"By, uh, all means?"

“Good-looking for a fuckup.”

"Me?"

"No, I'm talking about Santa Claus. Of course!"

“Oh, thanks I—”

“Nevermind the blanket if you dare.” You nudge his shoulder. His cheeks get even rosier. "Hey. Just kidding," you giggle, and have him wrapped up as promised.

 

Still, the feeling between your legs won’t betray you.

 

“Do you... like me?” he fiddles at his thighs ever so awkwardly. It’s hard to believe he was cussing like a sailor outside just minutes ago. 

“Can't leave you guessing, babe. As I said." You tug at his hips now. "That blanket can go back to where it came from. Or above us, it's always warmer together. Fancy it?”

He hesitates to answer. But when you smile at him, his dimples form, too.

“I do, Y/N. Above, I mean.”

 

You get on the couch yourself and lead him downwards,  _horizontal_ , by his arm just ever so lightly. The pillows then welcome you, too, huddled tightly by his side. You can feel his heartbeat in staccato. He nods when you ask him whether he’d enjoy a bit more than just cuddles.  

“Rather be doing that than messing around outside. We have plenty of time to kill. Your trailer isn't going anywhere.”

 

“Plenty, what do you wanna do?”

He tempts with one gaze that you think was supposed to be challenging, predatory. But when you pinch his side, it fades faster than it came. 

“Plenty of time to make you and me feel like we’re halfway warm again. I’m snowed in on vacation. You shredded your entire cargo. We almost died. Sounds stressful enough for me.”

“Gotta let loose I guess.”

“Why not make a fuckup a real fuck, then?” 

 "Y/N..."

"Want me to give it to you good?"

Now you poke his dimples, and think they look fascinating. 

“Have virtually nothing against it. Just a bit, um...”

"Yes, Joon?"

"Nervous. Sorry about that."

"No problem, don't mind it. Kinda like that, actually."

 

You trail your hand down his chest, but hardly is it in a hurry. Each inch is worth it. Namjoon is so well-built. He’s just ridiculous, isn’t he.

Outside, the mountains start to grumble again. He flinches.

“Hush, don’t listen.” You bite at his ear, which is surprisingly small for his height. “We’re gonna make this better. Not worse.”

“I’m still afraid,” Namjoon says and buries his head in the nape of your neck. He feels less tense when you plant a little kiss at the crown of his head.

You get a certain thought at that. 

 

“It's okay. We’re gonna play a hot game if you like."

"Hot game?"

"It's a bit risky."

"What's that about? I'm not going outside again."

You shake your head.

"No need. Wanna know the rules?"

"If it's that hot. I mean, sure?"

 

"I’ll count to hundred. If you can make me cum twice, you get a reward.”

 

“O-okay.”

"Only hands or mouth allowed. Just my clit and you. Nothing else."

"But why... twice? Only hundred, Christ!"

“If it’s only once, I’ll tease you to bits. But you can’t finish. Twice is a better accomplishment.” 

“Fair enough.”

“And,” you nibble at his ear, “If you can’t make me cum at all, you get punished and have to try again. Join the game or leave the game, Fuckup?”

Namjoon goes entirely red when you lower the hem of your pants. 

A risky game.

Why not? A little heat like that is fine for a trucker. It’s a little cruel, too. Oddly enough, he likes that quite a lot. 

Body faster than any thought, his tongue sneaks out to cover his lips in saliva, but he quickly realizes they won’t stay dry anyways. Not with the prospect of 100 seconds. His head nods a sultry yes. 

 

Namjoon’s lip begins to waver, ever so slowly, but accelerate at the way you intonate the numbers.

“Fifteen, sucker!”

His ears are warm indeed now. You love his lips, they’re like little pillows. And shiny as you briefly see when he emerges as 20. He catches a breath. Too long, because you approach 25. He's trying hard to provide the stimulation.

“Halfway through for the first one! 28!”

Now his hands sneak up. Finally. He gave up his delusion, or say, found what you wanted. Those long, sturdy fingers. The veins, like serpentines around his knuckles. Finger cups, soft but still potent to deliver a strong pressing against your clit. Perhaps too strong. Too inexperienced. He misses the spot a few times. He’s sweating more. The number is 45. In desperation, he switches to tongue again. 

 

_Satisfy._

_Why can’t I satisfy her. Stupid trucker, do it right. Do at least one thing right today._   _Are you a man or not?_  

 

A painful tug at his hair gets him back to reality when 60 approaches. He’s grateful for the hint, but his tongue won’t function anymore. His lips are coated wet, plump, thumping, and your scent becomes intoxicating to his mind. 71, and he still pokes around aimlessly. 72. 73. He brings up one hand to aid his tongue, parts your folds ready to thrust and lock two fingers inside. But then, Namjoon remembers: No penetration allowed. 78, 79.

Approaching 82, he rubs his palm flat against your pubic bone downwards. It does the trick, the familiar tingle wanders down your abdomen. You’re so wet. But that makes his hand slide off, and he needs more pressure to bring it in place, which makes it even more slippery.

“91, baby boy.”

And you don't count very fast. He’s groaning. The strength in his arm starts to fade. You can tell by how he slows down at 94, but still won’t give up using his tongue. He shoves and shoves, shoves it forward and sidewards, and still: the right spot escapes his prodding. The tension of your thighs around his head is none the stronger. How he wishes it was.

He wants to feel you climax and moan and wind, and scream, by now he’s frantically sucking and grinding his face between your legs, one orgasm! One orgasm, that’s it! He’ll do it! And finally, satisfy—

 

“Hundred. Game over!”

 

Nothing. 

Satisfy absolutely nothing. Your legs part slightly to release him.

He pulls off eyes downcast. How ludicrous that must have looked like, he can’t even bring forth an apology. Even if his lips have moved more in the last minutes than the last two months on the training road combined. 

“Just punish me, Y/N.”

_Do I even deserve that? I'm a real fuckwit loser._

 

“I have sympathies now seeing you worked so much.”

“No punishment?”

“Oh, my baby fool.” You tickle his chin and pick up a bit of the warm drops from there. “More sympathies means stronger punishment, didn’t you know?”

“Then, do it as hard as you can. I’ll take it.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Y/N, I don’t understand.”

“You’ve done the due already without me doing anything. Humiliated yourself enough, didn’t you? Look me in the eye!”

“Sorry...”

“When someone asks for punishment, it truly isn’t one. Punishment has to hurt more than that. It won’t make you feel good. You just took my job.”

 

That alone almost got you off. But you’ll teach him a lesson today. That means: Self-control. 

 

Namjoon scrambles in the pillows and manages to pull up his glance.

“Kind of. Yes. Maybe I did.”

“Come here, I’ll show you how to do it right.”

Namjoon doesn’t look any less shameful at that. But he comes close to where you beckon him into his embrace. He leans his head against your chest visibly hesitating, but follows at the guidance of your palm at the back of his neck. Namjoon’s heartbeat is still going wild, you can feel it now.

 

“Won’t humiliate you further after this,” you smooch his sweaty cheek. “You’ll find out how I really come with just a lil’ pointer.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been forcing yourself into being tough and sloppy for 100 seconds straight, didn’t you?” 

Namjoon becomes taciturn at that. Still, he nods.

“What I want to see,” and you tap his chest saying that, “is how you are... naturally. Who said you can’t use your hands and mouth elsewhere? My body’s not just one pleasure point and that’s it. You think I'll ever be contented like that in a million years and beyond? I'm a woman. I want more. I want it all, baby, don't you know!”

“O-Oh. I should have—”

“Wanna give it a go again? I think you know what to do. No shoulds and woulds now. Remember the rules.”

“Yes, Y/N.”

 

 

So good. The fingers of his left hand are intertwined with your hair, brushing softly just above the scalp when he decides to move them around a bit to explore. It brings back a distant memory.

 

Going to the barber’s shop in the small town you grew up in. Nothing about their service was cheap, so your parents couldn’t let you go often. Every visit was like entering heaven anew each time you stepped in on a Thursday afternoon. The chubby coiffeur was always friendly, and you loved the sound of his green scissors, the razors, the jasmine shampoo kneaded into your locks. The salon would always be filled with happy people looking at their transformations from all angles, a scent of bleach or hairspray, and Tango music blasting from the stereo in the other room where an apprentice would mix colors and move his hips to the beat thinking nobody would hear and see. There were no worries at that time. The world was okay. You'd even spend a bit of your pocket money for a massage. His hands bring you back to the days, with all the goosebumps and tingles in the same spots. He knows how to move them just right. Namjoon.

Who keeps on whispering in your ear, and trailing his other hand across your belly. All the sensitive places covered and cherished. Slowly pulling off the rest of your clothing. 22. 23.

“I love your body,” he says. “It’s smart like you. And beautiful.”

Namjoon’s lips trace your jawline, upwards, downwards, then return to your ear. 

“Can I kiss you, madam?”

“Go ahead, darlin’.”

 

You barely reach 40 and his lips are indulging your tongue. One hand caressing your back, the other roaming your breasts. It feels like your spine is infused with a fresh, bubbling feeling that lingers the more his lips do their work. They feed back the nectar that they picked up between your thighs so expertly. It's astonishing. You wonder how he didn’t do this earlier. And he seems to catch up on the same thought, too. 

He must have figured you like his veins because you get a good view of them. Going in circles on your breasts. While his mouth makes slow, repeated contact with your clit, seemingly ignorant that you’re approaching 65. At 70, his tongue fucks past the damp folds leading upwards to the tender place where his tip stops and plants almost little electrical impulses.

Your clit is so swollen, wherever he brings his tongue up it will contact and give a feeling that you convulse with so much excitement. While his hands continue their magical work at your waist, your hips, your ass. Even your calves and feet. 78, 79. Freaking Namjoon’s hands. Hands, hands, hands, fucking hands. Your skin has never felt more exalted.

“You’re perfect, Miss,” he mumbles into you, intertwines his fingers with yours. "Thank you for picking me up outside."

81, 82. Shit. Your body is on fire. 

Namjoon keeps on bringing his tongue forward and alternates with kisses. And then, he directs his thumb between your legs. Gently massaging. Small, dainty pokes. It’s like pushing a button to tip you off the glaring edge. He whispers.

 

 

 

“And I like you, too.”

 

 

 

99.

 

You’re cumming. So good. So hard. So fucking hard. You’re sorry for his ears, but your legs cramp together so fervently around his head, his exhale is louder than yours. All signs are on  _fuck it._  Your hips jerk and all cum dribbles out. Ruining his face, his hair. The sharp brows, the gorgeous dimpled smile. If another avalanche would come to be your frosty grave now, it wouldn't matter.

 

 

You’ve stopped counting by the time you slip on his dick with a condom barely on. Did he get that from the gas station? You’ll never know. Judging by the way he twitches, you know how long this trailer hasn’t seen a parking lot for all that heavy, bulging freight. He’s so nervous. He's so sexy. With that deep voice. That perfect dark hair. It’s getting ecstatic.

If you wanna bounce on him, you’ll do it properly, gradual and sloppy, even if your mind says go and screw his soul out... wherever that trucker soul is, his balls? They need to be crushed, they need to be ruined, you want it all.

The condom eventually bows to your pace and stays where it should, much like Namjoon who looks like he froze completely being so tense. Only your name comes from his lips, over and over. They are trembling, but not because he's cold. Not with that temperature in the room. The friction is just too much, no matter how much he concentrates to keep his hands on you where they tingle. No, he fumbles at your thighs, then returns back to stimulating your sensitive place, and the faint thought returns to you.

The second orgasm.

It already approaches. If it could melt the snow outside with all its heat, it would. Those fingers really do the rest.

He was right that your body is smart.

Being smart means knowing what’s good for you. And, what is that? 

 

Gushing all over his cock and groaning like it’s the last time. Game won. Well, kind of. If you can come on his dick like that and engulf him whole, own him whole, squeeze him whole, the rules are best discarded. The release is so heavenly. You feel so real and satisfied. He did so well. Very well for a fuckup, in fact. All to be smudged and blighted by the spill of your jizz, and it's so pretty on his shaft. You wouldn’t have thought that this emotion would be so powerful after all.

It’s his words that keep on repeating themselves, and they drive you wild. He likes you, too. The scent of pepper and smoke in the room becomes so much more clear in your sensation, ultimately, before blurring into the familiar picture. A winter’s white desert before your eyes. If only it would last forever. Who would have known how capable he is, that charmer, to make you come. 

 

 

The condom is chucked in a random corner.

You feel funny just lying there sticky talking about how you must have looked like kicking and yelling at each other earlier. But well, there is nobody else to laugh at you here. Maybe just the moon and the stars outside. Cackling how two idiots could get stuck in a lodge like this. At least, they are silent. Maybe that is eerie, but then again, Namjoon is next to you. His presence is comforting. He doesn’t snore and burp like you thought he would, or pull out a giant cigar to huff himself to sleep humming country songs. But it would have suited the atmosphere inside.

You are hungry again, but too lazy to get up. So late, so exhausted, and you're stuck here for longer anyways. No urgency. Time to sleep says the rest of your body save the stomach, and the stars go on giggling by themselves. They know it. Humans are all complete morons.

 

 

Namjoon wakes up with the messiest, sexiest hair you’ve ever seen. And, is that a beard coming out? You must be mistaken.

He says he must have tossed and turned, oh lord is he grumpy, but you don’t recall him being such a restless sleeper when you briefly got up at dawn. The toilet in the lodge was indeed prepared like you suspected, because Seokjin won’t fear getting his hands dirty. At this point, you feel like paying him for all the work he’s done. And the foresight. You're almost sure he gave Namjoon condoms for free. It's not hard to imagine how he realized what a hot piece of fuck was arriving at the gas station in his damn coat. And that sailor mouth, which you now think deserves better than calling it just that.

You get your breakfast together, set up the table, Namjoon does most of the work even if his mood isn’t the best and his clothes aren't completely dry. Who knows how long the food will last while you are stuck here, so he creates smaller rations. A bit of bread today. A bit later. It’s like a small lump on your plates.

You talk about how many miles he needed to drive to get to Alberta where a promotion waits. Well, would wait. And how you'll likely be way too behind on schedule now to continue the vacation. You can scrap it all if you can't reach the next station. The bread is only a small consolation, but you know that past counting to hundred and having fun to get a bit warmer you are in serious trouble. Two unlucky devils in one spot, and you can drink to that. Dreams are but shadows.

But before you can dig in, a brazen knock interrupts the conversation. 

 

The door.

 

Which you thought would have been blocked entirely by night. But it's not. It's half open. A voice reverberates outside, again, accompanied by several other knocks.

“506? You in there? It’s 507! Got your signal last night! Manager Hyuna sent us!”

“It's you! Hobi!”

Namjoon hurries to the door. Opening it, a bunch of rugged-looking truckers welcome you with their shovels. Namjoon can’t help himself, he starts jumping around. The trucker with the cap standing at the door greets you with a nonchalant handshake. He's devastatingly sexy. 

“Hi! Jung Hoseok, went to the academy with Joon. And these handsome chaps here: Yoongi, Tae, JK. We'll get you two wherever ya need to be. We got someone to clear the area, too.”

 

Well.

 

Canada's great.

 

No matter how icy it is.

**Author's Note:**

> How's everyone enjoying Trucker!Namjoon? Let me know. I'm still hot and bothered. 
> 
> If you like sub!BTS and want to read more, I'm submissive-bangtan on tumblr.


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